a cure for nostalgia
by chasing the blues
Summary: he owed her a dance. [the best way to heal your hurt is to help other people heal theirs]


To be completely honest, Steve Rogers never quite figured out if it was real or not. It seemed much too dream-like to have happened, but if it didn't, he was feeling some awfully real emotions nonetheless.

It wasn't one of his best days; of this, he was well aware. He'd been lagging, and he knew it. He was Captain America, there were unspoken requirements. He had to be strong. And he was, at least around everyone else.

The fact that Nat had been there was a fluke. She saw him sitting there with a drink in his hand and came over, maybe to talk, or maybe for some of her own. She wasn't one to talk about her weights, either.

"You're drinking," she said.

He looked up at her. "An astute observation," he replied, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"I didn't know you had the capacity for sarcasm, Captain America," she teased. "I guess inebriation does things to you, huh?"

His eyes were trained on his drink, a sad half-smile on his face. "I'm not inebriated," he assured her, a tinge of disappointment in his voice. "Thanks to my metabolism, I probably never will be." The mere words triggered it; one of his most painful memories. He visibly winced.

"Steve, are you okay?" Nat asked. Her eyebrows were knit with concern, and he hated it.

Steve stood up abruptly. "I'm always all right," he said, and left.

She picked up the half-consumed glass of alcohol and downed it in two gulps.

He wasn't really sure where he was going; just away. Preferably back to the 1940s. Before Bucky left, maybe. Then again, back then, he'd never even heard the name Peggy Carter.

Steve found himself in an alleyway between two restaurants, and took a seat at a rather unsturdy-looking table. The alcohol was gone, but he supposed he didn't really need it. It didn't do any good, anyway.

His thoughts wandered to those final moments before he crashed the Hydra ship. Mind in peril, he did his very best to shut it all down and closed his eyes. And then he was asleep.

* * *

><p>Steve awoke to soft, oddly soothing thrums. He barely thought to question the ridiculously inconspicuous, large, blue box that had appeared in the alleyway. Rather, his gaze had very nearly passed over it, a thing that he later found much more suspicious than in the moment. In fact, it didn't seem strange at all, up until the minute he heard noises from inside.<p>

He stood up cautiously. There was no question about whether he would investigate or not; it was his job.

The door wouldn't open, and so taking a breath that mocked the ridiculousness of the situation, he knocked on the door. Within moments, it was opened, and a man with messy brown hair answered.

"Is there something I can do for you?" He asked, looking Steve up and down.

"No—well, yes," Steve stumbled, confused. "Who are you? What—what is this?" And thence, a rather baffled Steve Rogers caught his first glimpse of the inside of the box, in all its glory.

"Hang on, do I know you?" The man asked, completely ignoring Steve's questions in a rather rude fashion.

Steve decided to play that card, and see if he could force the man to answer his questions. "My name is Steve Rogers, but I commonly go by Captain America," he said, and judged the stranger's reaction.

His face lit up in a way Steve hadn't been expecting. "Blimey, so you do!" He exclaimed. "Oh, it's been a _very _long time, Captain Rogers! Why don't you come in here?"

Then Captain America, marvel of the modern world, took his first, cautious steps inside. "This is amazing," he uttered, looking around. "It's . . ."

"Bigger on the inside," the man finished. "I get that a lot."

"What is it?" Steve asked, turning his gaze back to the man, who was about to close the door. Steve caught it before it closed. "Leave it open," he said.

The man shrugged, walking over to lean against the fixture in the center of the room they stood in.

"You know who I am," Steve began. "But I don't know who you are."

"I'm the Doctor," the man replied. "And this box we're standing in, it's called the TARDIS."

Steve looked at him. "And what might a TARDIS be?"

"It stands for Time And Relative Dimension In Space. In short, it's a time machine."

That's the moment Steve's heart stopped.

He was lying. He had to be. He was mad.

But what if he wasn't?

"Right," he said carefully. "A time machine. And why would I believe such a thing?"

The Doctor just laughed. "Well Steve, look around you! You're in a blue police box that's infinitely bigger on the inside, and you're still questioning time travel?" He reached up and ruffled his sticky-uppy brown hair, looking down at his converse as he did when he was thinking. Then he looked up suddenly. "I can prove it to you," he said.

Steve kept his face stony while his mind raced. "And how do you intend to do that?" He asked. "Why shouldn't I just tell SHIELD about this and be done with you?"

Then the Doctor stepped forward, walking until he was face to face with Steve. "You're ninety years old, at least. You slept away seventy years. _Seventy years. _I'll bet there's a lot you miss—a lot you'd like to go back to, even for a night."

And Steve knew exactly what the Doctor was insinuating as he reached over his shoulder and pushed the door shut.

"There is one thing."

* * *

><p>All he could do was pace, and will his heart to quit fluttering like that, because he could see the light on downstairs.<p>

She was home.

If only he could summon enough courage to knock on the door.

He was afraid of how she would react. She'd be confused. She'd be happy. She'd be heartbroken that he had to return and she would probably think it was a dream the next morning.

Then again, so would he.

Before he lost his nerve, he lifted his hand and knocked.

The seconds that it took her to answer the door found his ears pounding with his heartbeat and he almost couldn't hear the door open, but he could sure see it.

She was breathtaking, just as she'd always been, wearing a dress and red lipstick, and Steve felt his heart move from flutters to full on backflips.

Peggy stared at him with unbelieving eyes. "Steve?"

"Yeah," he said, and he drank her in.

Her eyes were sparkling with unshed tears. "I thought you were dead." Her voice cracked when she said it, and he couldn't take any more; he pulled her into his arms.

"I am dead, Peggy," he murmured into her hair, uncomprehending of what he was saying. "But I had to see you."

She pulled away, just enough to look at him. "But you're here."

"I won't be tomorrow," he whispered. "But I owed you a dance."

She took him inside then, and they danced to the music on the radio. He stepped on her toes once or twice, but she didn't mind.

After a while, the Doctor knocked on the door and called to him. It was time to go.

"Are you going to leave?" She asked, and his heart nearly broke.

"Yes," he whispered. "I have to." He figured he owed her an explanation, and with the help of some very Doctor-ish terms that he didn't fully understand, that's exactly what he did.

"So I'll see you again in seventy years?" She asked, eyebrows raised. "I don't know if this is a dream I'm making up, but if it is, I can't say I mind."

He smiled, then looked at the door. "I have to go now," he said. "Thank you for the dance, it was unimaginably wonderful." Then he turned to go.

She caught him by the sleeve. "Steve, wait," she said.

As if only waiting to be prompted, he turned around and pulled her to him, kissing her.

"I love you," she said solemnly when she pulled away.

"I love you too," he said. Then he turned around and walked briskly back to the TARDIS.

* * *

><p>The thrumming stopped, and Steve, previously lost in thought, turned to look at the Doctor.<p>

"Why did you do that?" He asked finally. "I know you could have just left. You didn't need to prove anything to me."

The Doctor studied him with those old eyes of his. "Because I know what it feels like."

That was enough for Steve. "Thank you, Doctor," he said. They shook hands firmly, and Steve left.

The Doctor leaned against the TARDIS console, reminiscing. The waves of nostalgia were more than he could take, sometimes. All those painfully sweet moments that he would always hold onto and yet yearned to forget. The thing about moments, though, is that they always end. And all you're left with is a memory, perhaps one that will haunt you forever.

And right now, that's all he has. He could never bring Rose back, not without destroying the universe. He had to keep going, keep saving the world.

Oh well. If he can't go back, then he would give someone else the chance. They say the best way to heal your hurt is to help other people heal theirs. And that's exactly what he does.

**[a/n]**

sometimes my oneshots are a little mixed up because my thoughts work differently in my head . . . sorry if any part of this is confusing haha.


End file.
